


Pillow Princess

by aobahime (hereiamramblingagain)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal, Blow Jobs, Bottom Linhardt, Choking, Drinking, Falling In Love, First Time, Flirting, Hair Pulling, M/M, Man handling, Post Time Skip, Silver Snow Route, Top Caspar, dom/sub dynamics, i am so bad at tagging things sorry?, no beta we die like men, no/very minor spoilers, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 23:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereiamramblingagain/pseuds/aobahime
Summary: “Will you... touch me again?” he asks, quietly, like Caspar doesn’t have dreams about touching him. He fiddles with the long sleeve of his robes, not making eye contact.Caspar steps forward, close enough that he has to look up at Linhardt. He doesn’t touch him, yet. “How do you want me to touch you?” His voice is low.Linhardt is staring at the floor to his right, “Like you did the other night,”Caspar reaches forward and grabs his wrist tightly. He tugs Linhardt forward, and grabs his hip with his other hand, bracing as he stumbles against him. Linhardt’s eyes snap to his, and he gasps. “Is it right to treat a princess so roughly?”





	Pillow Princess

**Author's Note:**

> lincas is my big fav pairing from fe3h.... tall pretty, short chaotic, thats my irl dynamic babeyyy 
> 
> ANYWAYS im still so rusty with this so i hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> this is, INCREDIBLY self indulgent  
pls enjoy

Caspar thought Linhardt was just so pretty. 

Before the war, he’d always ache to touch his hair, to hold him by the waist. He was never particularly smooth or flirtatious, no matter how many times he tried to emulate Sylvain’s wit, words sounded silly in his voice. He didn’t have the stature of the other boys, always envious of Dedue and Raphel’s builds. Dimitri was so earnest, Claude so suave, even those like Lorenz and Ferdinand had sheer confidence. Caspar felt small and childish in comparison to so many of the others at the Officer’s Academy. 

He’d just doubled down on who he was and people liked him, they really did. Even though it was because he was funny (not smart) and strong (through no small effort) he found friends. 

His years alone were so lonely. He’d struggled with companionship, never staying anywhere long. Friends were harder to come by then anonymous company. A few times, particularly desperate, Caspar had sought the company of women, always tall, with pretty long hair, thin waists. It never amounted to anything. He improved at sweet talking, learned how to treat someone in bed, put some experience on his more childish personality. But each time felt empty, just desperate motions in between people deep in a war. 

When he touched himself, he saw pretty green hair, pale skin, a lithe waist, an inviting neck.

Caspar had been more sure about returning to the monastery than anything in his life. He wanted to see his friends, even one, to fill a void in his heart. When all his classmates were there he was ecstatic. 

It was after they’d cleared out the bandits, a small but celebratory feast in the neglected dining hall, that he finally got a good look at Linhardt again. His hair was so pretty now, so purposefully styled in the little bun that it drove him insane the second he saw it. Years of dreaming of untying that little ribbon instantly turned to untwisting that little bun. His robes were so regal and pretty; he looked so scholarly and noble and it made him itch to learn how to take it apart. He wanted to do it right, not to ruin it, to make him happy. 

Caspar had come to terms with the way he felt for this particular man long ago. Gossip back in school had told him that the sleepy scholar wasn’t into girls, that he’d read too many fairy tales and fancied being the princess instead of the knight. He’d also heard gossip about himself, that he was dropped on his head as a baby and his growth was stunted, which was unfair and false. Still, he’d hoped some rumors were true. 

It had been about two months since they’d returned to the monastery, joined the resistance army, and settled back into life. It was shockingly similar to their Academy days, though they were all older, more experienced, more damaged. 

Caspar was returning from a small shopping trip, a couple bottles of booze under his arm, with the night wind on his back. He intended to drink just enough to ease his mind and find sleep, something escaping the best of them from time to time. But as he passed by the pond on his way to the dorms, something caught his eye. 

Linhardt is laying on the dock, arms stretched out to his sides. He’s awake, oddly enough, eyes turned skyward. A book is discarded to his side, and he looks so pretty in the moonlight, Caspar thinks he could cry. 

Linhardt cranes his head to look back at him, and Caspar starts, realizing how obvious it was that he’d stopped. He waves lamely. 

“What do you have there, Caspar?” Linhardt sits up, hair mussed slightly. Caspar wants to fix it so bad. 

“Oh uh, haha. Just some booze,” 

Linhardt clicks his tongue, “Off to drink alone? That isn’t any fun.” 

Caspar drifts closer, “I’d ah, be happy to share. I just needed a bit of help to sleep is all.”

Linhardt moves over, purposefully clearing a space for Caspar to sit. Caspar does, setting the two heavy bottles down with a clunk on the dock. “Drinking actually makes your sleep less restful, you know,” he states while picking up a bottle and beginning to open it. 

Caspar chuckles, “Yeah, well, I’ll take any sleep over none,” 

Linhardt hums in response as he finally gets the lid off. He takes a small swig, crinkling his nose. After setting the bottle down, he lifts the other, squinting at the label, “This one doesn’t happen to be a chaser does it?”

Caspar laughs before taking a deep drink from the open bottle. “Sorry, I bought highest function for lowest price.” 

“I do always prefer something a bit fruitier but I can’t argue with your shopping tactic,” He takes another sip, braced this time. 

They sit quietly for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth. Caspar is aware he’s drinking more than Linhardt, more than he intended to in the first place, but he’s nervous. Nervous in the presence of this person who has haunted him all these years. The bottle isn’t empty, but when Linhardt offers it to him after a while he declines. 

“I’m glad you came back,” Caspar blurts. 

Linhardt blinks at him, his big pretty eyes searching his face. “I am glad you did as well. We always did make a good team, you and I,”

Caspar feels his words in his chest. “O-oh?” 

Linhardt laughs, more open than he’s seen before. “Of course, your muscle, my magic. I recall having to work hard to keep you alive,” 

“Well sometimes I get a little distracted trying to make sure my defenseless mage doesn’t get taken out,” 

This time its Linhardt’s turn, “Oh?” 

Caspar is tipsy, and he can’t remember exactly what he’s said. “What?” 

“Your mage,” Linhardt repeats, eyes turned out to the water. It’s dark, and they’re drunk, but Caspar wants to think that Linhardt is blushing. 

“Y-you know just because you said we were a team and all, I-“ 

“That’s okay, Caspar.” Linhardt is smiling softly at him. “I don’t mind.”

It wasn’t even a real confession, but Caspar is experiencing such a roller coaster of emotions he’s getting dizzy. 

“You know what they used to say?” Caspar wishes he could stop his mouth, but he lacks a filter sober, let alone drunk, “They used to say that you read too many fairy tales and that you would rather be the princess than the knight, but you’ve saved my ass so many times, and everyone's asses! What a dumb thing to say,” 

Linhardt opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, “Perhaps it takes the skills of a princess to be able to save them,” 

Caspar tilts his head at him questioningly, and Linhardt meets his gaze. 

“Perhaps what I mean is that, one could be both the princess, and a person who protects his friends,” 

Gears are turning in Caspar’s head, “Of course,” he starts, but there's a hand on his thigh and he trails off. 

Linhardt’s hand is so pretty, with long fingers and well kept nails. It’s warm, heat radiating through his pants to his skin and Caspar’s heart jumps in his throat. 

“Do you know what they used to say about you?” Linhardt is leaning in, just barely. Caspar can only shake his head no. “They used to say you tried so hard because you were stunted. That you trained and studied and told jokes because deep down you weren’t good enough. But they only said that because they couldn’t match you. They weren’t as tough, as clever, as funny as you.”

Linhardt darts a tongue out to wet his lips and Caspar can’t help but stare. 

“Plus, if they saw you now? I don’t think they could even pretend that stuff.”

Caspar stutters out, “W-what?” 

Linhardt has an open easy smile as he talks and it’s captivating. His hand is still so warm on his leg and Caspar is pulled taught like a bow string, waiting on his every word. 

“You’ve... grown. Bulked up, gotten taller. No one could call you stunted. You could cut them clean in half.” Linhardt had glanced away but now he makes eye contact again as he says, “You always could have though,” 

Caspar’s mouth feels dry as he tries to process the praise. He can’t form words, let alone a coherent thought to voice, and he knows he must look so dumb sitting there just gaping at Linhardt. 

The hand on his thigh is gone, which is embarrassingly the most clear thought he has. Linhardt reaches out to touch his hair. He rubs his fingers against the short shaved sides, a look of satisfied curiosity on his face. “I like your haircut. It’s soft, I thought it would be prickly,” 

Caspar wants to ask how hard he has thought about his hair when he considers how hypocritical that would be. “Yours looks really pretty too. I like seeing it down.” He lifts his hand to touch, but can’t bring himself to. 

Linhardt absolutely notices. “Tell me,” he starts, and he brings his hands back to untie his bun, “Is it soft? I tried a new soap.” He runs his hand through the extra hair now gathered at his shoulders, some of it curlier than the rest from the bun. 

Caspar finally reaches to touch it. He reaches just past Linhardt’s ear and over his shoulder to run his fingers through the bulk of the hair resting there. It’s so silky, and his fingers don’t tangle as they run through. “It’s soft,” he whispers, hyper focused. 

“Does it smell nice?” 

Nothing has happened but Caspar exhales to hide a noise, feeling teased. The invitation was clear, and so it is with new confidence that he leans forward to bury his face in his neck. The silky strands keep his face from reaching skin, but he nuzzles his nose deep into his hair and inhales. 

Linhardt smells like lavender and flowers. His hair is heavy with it, lovingly cared for and tended to. He cares enough to buy fancy soap, even in war times, to wash and brush and style it. Perhaps it's wasteful, but in that moment Caspar couldn’t be more grateful. 

He feels Linhardt stiffen under his hands. His hands? When he had leaned forward one had wound up on his chest, the other on his hip. He didn’t want to fall or strain himself when he leaned forward. Linhardt’s breath hitches again as he adjusts his grip slightly. 

Caspar grins into his hair now. _He’d asked him to smell his hair and he’s going to go and get all embarrassed?_ “It smells really nice,” his voice is quiet and low, aware of how close he is to Linhardt’s ear. Linhardt shudders. 

Caspar is a little too drunk to help himself as he nuzzles past hair to neck. Linhardt is warm and practically panting as lips meet his skin, not kissing, just pressed up against him. A hand is weaved into the hair at the back of Caspar’s head, not pulling, just clutching. It doesn’t stop Caspar from lifting his head and looking into Linhardt’s eyes. 

One moment passes. Caspar lifts a hand to Linhardt’s chin and grips it, gently but firmly, and pulls him forward. When their lips meet they’re both ready and relieved. 

Linhardt’s lips are so soft. He tastes like the cheap booze on the surface, but beyond that he’s sweet and intoxicating in his own way. He opens to let Caspar lick into his mouth, clutches his hair as he lets himself be explored. Linhardt doesn’t take charge, instead letting himself be kissed, making himself easier to get to. He leans into Caspar’s hands, gasping softly, and it drives him wild. 

Caspar pulls back first and Linhardt _whines_. Linhardt surges forward to try to kiss him again, but the hand still gripping his chin stops him, which makes the green haired man gasp. Caspar can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him, “You like being manhandled a bit don’t you?”

Linhardt nods over enthusiastically against his hand, mouth open and cheeks red. _ It was so easy to get him like this _, Caspar thinks wildly. 

“We can’t stay here, though,” Caspar sighs, untangling himself. 

“Ugh, I suppose not,” 

“Here, let me help you up,” Caspar tries to stand, fully intent on lifting Linhardt, sweeping him back to his room, and having his way with him. 

What Caspar does do, is fall backwards into the pond. 

_ I was not that drunk, _he argues with himself as he tries to find up. After some minimal thrashing he finds the surface, gasping slightly for air but mostly unscathed. When he’s able to open his eyes, he sees Linhardt doubled over with laughter on the pier. 

“Thanks for the help!” he calls as he paddles back, clambering back up onto the pier with no grace whatsoever. Linhardt has enough sense to move back out of the splash zone, stumbling and clutching at the fishing stall as he continues to laugh. 

“N-no problem,” Linhardt wipes a tear from his eyes. “Here, let me help.” 

Caspar does not brace himself in time for the wind spell that Linhardt shoots at him in an attempt to dry him off. He is so unbraced, in fact, that it nearly sends him back into the water. Luckily he just lands on his ass, making both of them burst out in another fit of laughter. After Caspar has righted himself, gathered all his soggy things and gotten a safe distance away from the pond, they finally are calm enough to say goodnight. 

Linhardt reaches for his hand, face flushed and smiling easily. “Goodnight, Caspar.” 

“Goodnight, Linhardt. I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

“Of course. I have a reason to not oversleep.” 

The words make Caspar’s heart skip. 

* * *

Training and planning get in the way of any further flirting for a few days. Caspar can’t help but listen to Linhardt ramble on about strategies in their meetings, and notice when their eyes meet, and watch his generally more apathetic face for those little smiles. The dining hall is always a contest for who gets to catch up with who, and they don’t have a chance to talk privately. 

On the fifth day, Caspar finds himself in the library. It’s not a location he frequents, ever, but his idle brain has deposited him here nonetheless. The room is warm and dim, and most notably, empty. A green head of hair is not bobbing among shelves or asleep on a desk. Regardless, he wanders deeper into the room, stalling as if Linhardt will be hiding inside a book. 

Towards the back of the library, he does come across a desk that has clearly been in use. Notes and books are strewn across it, just enough to be organized for access and not haphazard. Two empty tea cups and saucers are stacked to the side. 

Caspar glances over the notes in an attempt to discern their owner. The handwriting is small and loopy, some pages sloppier than others. Drawings of sigils and crests line the margins, and fondness grips Caspar’s heart as he finds little flowers drawn in blank spaces. 

The heavy door to the library creaks open, and Caspar steps away from the desk, urgently finding a book to look interested in. 

He focuses on the page, unseeing as he hears a familiar yawn. 

“Caspar? What are you doing here?” Linhardt doesn’t sound upset but rather genuinely surprised. He’s holding a new cup of tea and a book under his arm. 

“Oh, uh! You know, just reading about,” he glances down at his book, “a-advanced black magic.” 

“Are you, now?” Linhardt is smiling at him as he moves to set his things back down on his desk. “Exactly what I expect from you.” 

Linhardt doesn’t sit, and instead leans back onto his desk. Caspar feels like he is being drawn closer by some source as he moves, setting his book down somewhere along the way. Linhardt reaches out to fiddle with a clasp on Caspar’s coat, keeping him at a short arms length. 

“Why don’t you let me pack my things up, hm?” Linhardt’s voice is so quiet, Caspar can barely hear him through the blood rushing through his ears. “And we can head back to my room for some more tea?”

Caspar inhales deeply and reels himself back in, “Of course. Let me carry your books?” 

“Please do,” Linhardt begins to carefully pick up papers and notebooks and tuck them into his bag. He piles his books one by one into Caspar’s waiting arms until he is finished. There are only four, and Caspar has seen Linhardt lugging up to six around the monastery before, but as he steps ahead of Linhardt to open the door for him, the idea of doing this for him makes his head spin a bit. 

It doesn’t take long to reach the dorms, the monastery is quiet this late at night. Linhardt lets him into his room, and as Caspar steps through the door he is surrounded by the sweet lavender scent that follows Linhardt around. 

Linhardt shuts the door gently and sets his bag down. He taps the corner of the dresser, “You can set those here,” 

Caspar does, feeling Linhardt’s eyes on him as he moves. When he turns around, Linhardt is close. 

“Will you... touch me again?” he asks, quietly, like Caspar doesn’t have dreams about touching him. He fiddles with the long sleeve of his robes, not making eye contact. 

Caspar steps forward, close enough that he has to look up at Linhardt. He doesn’t touch him, yet. “How do you want me to touch you?” His voice is low. 

Linhardt is staring at the floor to his right, “Like you did the other night,” 

Caspar reaches forward and grabs his wrist tightly. He tugs Linhardt forward, and grabs his hip with his other hand, bracing as he stumbles against him. Linhardt’s eyes snap to his, and he gasps. “Is it right to treat a princess so roughly?” 

Linhardt’s mouth falls open, like being jerked around just a little would be enough for him. He doesn’t say anything, just nods enthusiastically. 

Caspar surges forward to kiss his open mouth. Linhardt’s free hand flies to his face, clutching his cheek. Again, Linhardt lets Caspar kiss him how he wants, just barely tangling their tongues to let him taste and lick as he pleases. 

Caspar releases his wrist and slides it up to his chest, flattening his palm against the soft fabrics. He pulls back, slightly, using his hand to keep Linhardt from chasing him. “You have to tell me if its too much,” 

“Of course,” 

“Then take all this off.” Caspar pushes his chest with his hand. 

“Oh, o-of course.” 

Linhardt steps back to begin fumbling with the latches of his robe. 

“Take your time. I want to see how to do it.” 

They spend the next few moments untangling Linhardt’s robes. Caspar hopes he can remember, he sees the important bits at least. At some point during the process, Caspar shrugs off his coat and kicks his boots off, and eventually they’re down to their trousers and dress shirts. 

Linhardt, growing impatient, steps up close to Caspar to kiss him again. Caspar permits him, bringing his hands up to undo a few of his shirt buttons before carefully threading a hand into his hair. Linhardt hums contentedly against his mouth, his own hands clutching Caspar’s biceps. 

Caspar can’t help himself any longer, and reaches to untie Linhardt’s bun. He pulls gently at it until he finds the pins and the tie, and combs his fingers through it when he finally gets it free. He carefully undoes the tangles between his fingers, intent not to pull just yet. Linhardt is soft and compliant against him, enjoying the attention, smiling against his lips. 

He combs his fingers deep into the hair at the base of Linhardt’s neck. He’s warm, and he feels him tense just slightly before he does what they both want him to do. 

Caspar makes a loose fist and yanks his head back, exposing his neck. Linhardt moans openly, going easily with the hand. Nails press into Caspar’s arms as he continues to hold his head back. He dives forward and bites his neck. 

The noises Linhardt is making from just a little hair pulling go straight to Caspar’s dick. _ If it's so easy to get him like this, what happens when I do more? _

He bites and suckles, making only a half hearted attempt to stay below his collar line as he leaves marks. Linhardt’s pale skin bruises easily, and when he leans back to appreciate his work he’s stunned by how dark the bruises are. 

In his pause, Linhardt becomes very interested in removing Caspar’s shirt. Caspar watches him go at his buttons, hair mussed and lips puffy. Linhardt chews his lip as he finally exposes Caspar’s chest, immediately spreading his palms flat over his pecs. He slides his hands around his torso, squeezing and exploring, a open mouthed smile on his face. Caspar can’t help but have his ego stroked a bit, as Linhardt pushes his shirt the rest of the way off, appreciating his arms in the process. 

“Like what you see?” 

“Goddess, yes,” Linhardt’s voice is almost hoarse. “You really... it’s so...” He can’t find words so he gives his pec another good squeeze to make his point. 

Caspar grins, surging forward to wrap his arms around Linhardt, reaching just under his ass to pull him forward and lift him. Linhardt yelps, and Caspar gives him a gratuitous twirl before depositing him on the bed. 

In his mind, the gentle toss he gave Linhardt would have made him bounce a bit as he hit the bed. Instead, Linhardt sinks into at least eight pillows, the landing significantly softened. He half disappears under them, and laughs. 

“Why do you even need this many pillows?” 

“Caspar, have you met me?” he sits up and stacks a few on the floor beside his bed, rearranging the rest to cushion the headboard. After he’s satisfied with his work, he leans back into it happily. 

“You’re awfully presumptuous,” 

“Hm?” Linhardt blinks up at him with his big blue eyes, half way through undoing his own shirt. 

Caspar begins work on his own pants, “Making yourself this pillow throne, like I’m gonna fuck you gently or something.”

Linhardt makes a choked noise, tossing his shirt off to the side. He’s lean and smooth, and he looks so soft that a small part of Caspar feels like he _ needs _ to fuck him gently or he’ll break. But just a small part. The rest of him has seen the physical demands he can keep up with, and he plans to test it. 

Caspar kicks his pants off, aware of Linhardt’s eyes on him. He goes to move forward, but is stopped by a sudden movement. Linhardt stands, tosses a pillow to the floor, and kneels in front of him quicker than he can process. Before he can say anything, Linhardt’s hands are clutching his thighs, and he nuzzles against his dick, still enclosed by his underwear. 

Caspar’s hands fly to his hair in response, which only spurs him on. Linhardt takes one long, meltingly desperate glance up at him before dragging his underpants down to his thighs. His dick springs free, and Linhardt gently, _ daintily_, wraps a hand around it. He pumps slow and loose a few times, and Caspar can’t drag is eyes away as he wets his lips so purposefully before licking a stripe up his length. Caspar shudders, hands tightening in his hair. 

He swears Linhardt _ smiles _ before sucking him down. His eyes look downright blissful as he takes Caspar deeply. He doesn’t gag hard when Caspar hits the back of his throat, though he can feel him adjust his mouth to accommodate him. After a moment he pulls off with a pop, and pushes his head back into Caspar’s hands, expectantly. 

Caspar isn’t able to quite get his voice husky as he says, “Tap out if you need to.” 

Linhardt, flushed and covered in spit smiles a little smugly, “I won’t,” 

Caspar doesn’t give him time to gloat, pushing Linhardt back down onto him. He pulls his hair, hard, and Linhardt whimpers slightly around him. He finds a rhythm, pulling him on and off while meeting him with his hips. After a while Linhardt’s jaw goes slack, letting his mouth get fucked with little attempt to suck. Caspar’s mind is racing, so dumbfounded by the fact he’s actually doing this with Linhardt. He can’t take his eyes off the way his hands look tangled in green hair or the way teary blue eyes go in and out of focus. The way his cute nose looks pressed against the patch of blue hair at his groin. 

He’s getting close, but a particularly choked splutter makes him slow down. Linhardt pants, still pressing gentle kisses along his length. His face is wet, barely from tears and mostly from spit. He looks up towards Caspar’s face but his eyes are lidded and hazy. 

“Get on the bed.” It’s a command but he gives it gently. 

Linhardt obeys, slowly. Caspar doesn’t rush him, and by the time he’s situated himself on the bed, he’s a bit more alert. He clears his throat to speak, but his voice is still notably raspy, “Top drawer.” 

Caspar nods, reaching into the dresser to find lube. He joins Linhardt on the bed, settling behind him. He has his legs tucked and curled away, almost as if he’s shy. But Caspar is entranced by his smooth pale chest, soft waist, and the way he lets his arms rest above his head, hair falling around him. He looks so poised, even now, like a painting. Caspar places a hand on his knee to nudge his legs open, and Linhardt buries his face in his arm. 

Caspar trails his hands gently but firmly down his thighs, gripping at the soft skin. He gets a whimper as he gets closer to his goal, brushing fingertips against places but not touching. 

“Please,” Caspar almost doesn’t hear him. 

“Hm?” He punctuates his words with a slow, loose pump of his cock. 

Linhardt twitches in his hands, gasping, “Please, please,” 

“So whiney,” Caspar teases. Linhardt makes another whiney noise in response. 

Still, he can’t help it. He opens the bottle of lube, haphazardly squeezing some onto his fingers. He touches at the tight ring of muscle, watching as Linhardt continues to twitch under him. 

He dips his finger in to the second knuckle. He’s slightly caught off guard by how easy it is, but Linhardt mewls have him more distracted. Any movement from him elicit more noises, and soon he’s preparing to add a second finger. Linhardt moans _ loudly _ as it enters him, and Caspar doesn’t even need to be gentle, his body ready and eager. 

Linhardt’s moans taper off just a bit as he adjusts, but as Caspar readjusts his fingers, he shouts. Caspar laughs gently to himself, hitting the spot one more time, hard, and watching Linhardt _ writhe_. 

He gets more whines as he pulls his fingers out. He wastes no time in slicking up his cock and roughly pulling Linhardt in line with him. His jostling lets him get a good look at his face, and he is a mess. Green hair mussed, curling around his head, some sticking to the sweat and tears on his face. His eyes are still wet, and his mouth is open, panting. He’s flushed, almost down to his chest, and when he makes eye contact to say “Please,” again, Caspar can’t help what it does to him. He lines himself up with his entrance. “Please, Caspar,” he nudges the head in and they both groan. But he pauses, and waits for one more. Linhardt nudges his hips forward, “Please! Please, fuck me,” 

“Anything for you, princess.” Caspar snaps his hips forward and earns a shout. 

Linhardt throws his head back, chest heaving. As if he could make it any better he reaches under one of his thighs to lift it up, allowing Caspar to shift even deeper. 

Caspar sets a quick pace. Linhardt is tight and hot around him, and he lets himself chase his own pleasure for a moment, pumping into the heat of his body. Linhardt enjoys it nonetheless, judging by his noises. He adjusts, slightly, so he can lean over him better, and the fleeting amount of eye contact melts him. 

Linhardt grabs at his hand. Caspar shifts his weight to let him take it, and has to stop himself from coming right there when Linhardt puts it on his throat. 

“Fuck, Lin, you just want it all, don’t you?” 

Linhardt doesn’t respond with anything more than a desperate moan. Caspar squeezes, putting pressure on him, and as Linhardt’s moans taper in to wheezes, he asks again, “Is there anything you don’t want, princess? Are you always so insatiable?” 

Linhardt sputters a bit, but doesn’t make an attempt to respond. 

Caspar tightens his grip just a bit. Linhardt is growing redder. “Answer me,” he growls, and gets desperate, teary blue eyes locked onto his. “How insatiable are you?”

Linhardt tries to speak, precious air wheezing out of his mouth. Caspar lightens his grip a bit to let him choke out, “I want it a-all, rough, mean to- to me!”

Caspar retightens his grip as a reward. He keeps pounding his hips forward, and he’s getting close. Linhardt is clenched tight around him, mouth open and little sound escaping it. Caspar lets up just enough to let some moans slip through. 

“You’re fucking perfect, do you know that? A fucking dream come true. Always looking so prim and proper but you just want to get fucking manhandled and fucked hard like you’re some cheap whore.” 

He’s really close. Despite his hand on his throat, Linhardt is moaning as much as he can, hips grinding down to meet his. 

“Lift your thighs again for me, slut,”

Linhardt scrambles to, nails digging into his soft skin. Caspar angles his hips to meet the new angle and he knows he hits the spot because after three rough pumps of his hips, Linhardt cums untouched onto his stomach. Caspar doesn’t let up his pace, although he does let go of his neck in favor of holding up his drooping thighs. 

He’s moaning now too, soft grunts as he races toward his climax. “F-fuck, Lin, I-“ 

Linhardt, boneless under him, voice almost completely shot, rasps out, “Inside, please-“ 

That’s all it takes for Caspar. He moans, and locks his hips in deep as he cums, distantly aware of Linhardt gasping as he does. He’s seeing stars, watching the events of the night behind his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. He slips out, and he has enough sense to watch cum drip out of his gaping hole, running down the curve of his ass. 

Linhardt has his head turned away, arms above his head again, breathing raggedly. Caspar guiltily notes the hickeys and handprints on his neck, but pride stirs in him regardless. Linhardt’s belly is covered is his own cum, his legs limp as Caspar’s continues to drip down his ass. 

Caspar finds his legs first, stumbling off the bed to find a cloth. He pours some water onto it and returns, beginning to gently mop Linhardt up. Eyes emerge from a sea of green hair, watching him with a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he rasps. 

“Huh?” Caspar takes care in dabbing the cloth between his thighs. “No, no, thank you!” 

Linhardt winces as he pulls himself up to sit, but slides close to drape himself over Caspar. His long fingers trace shapes idly over his chest. “You’ve felt this way for a while?” 

“I, uh, yeah,” Caspar probably has nothing left to be embarrassed by but still looks away. “When we started at the officers academy I just realized how... pretty you were.” 

“Was I not pretty as a child?” Linhardt’s voice is mocking. 

“Listen, I was just raised differently. Expected to marry for status and stuff and I just didn’t consider-“ 

“I’m teasing, Caspar,” the use of his name melts him a bit. “I’m really glad we did this. Thank you for being so, uh, accommodating, with my....interests,”

Caspar snorts, “Don’t worry, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.” He feels Linhardt laugh. 

“Will you stay with me?” Linhardt asks after a long pause, looking up at him from where he’s been resting on his shoulder. 

“Of course, you have enough pillows-“

“No, I mean, will you stay by my side? You’ve always been there, and I was worried during those five years, I just-“ 

“I’m not gonna go anywhere. Not without you.” Caspar has never meant anything more. 

Linhardt leans in to kiss him, soft and slow. When they part, he’s being dragged down to the bed, Linhardt settling in half on top of his chest. The bunks were meant for one teenager and not two adult men, but with a lot of snuggling, they make it work. 

Caspar is tired and comfortable, one arm wrapped around Linhardt’s back who is already completely asleep, drooling barely against his chest. He gently sweeps his hair behind his ear, and settles in to doze off. 

The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Linhardt’s sleeping face. 

_ Pretty_, he thinks, before drifting off.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if u like the ruff stuff i have a felix/dimitri fic that u may enjoy! 
> 
> pls kudo and comment! it fuels my little typing hands 
> 
> <3


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